Welcome to My Official Web Page!

Welcome to My Official Web Page!

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Getting Kicked Off the Plateau



Just a reminder: Don't forget to sign up for this weekend's HAIKU BLOGFEST!

A while back, Paul Greci posted about Submission Belly, a strange phenomenon whereby authors gain 3-5 pounds while their work is on submission to an agent, editor, or even for a contest. I've been trying to shed my Submission Belly since January, but to no avail.

A few weeks ago, I started a cycling class with a cheer leader/drill sergeant hybrid of an instructor (who I think does speed before the class). She's a maniac- I spend the entire hour panting and drenched in sweat while she plays techno and yells at us.

It's worth it- I've finally lost those last sneaky pounds. All it took was someone kicking my butt off my comfy plateau and making me work. HARD.

I think the same thing might be happening with my writing. I got a swift kick in the rear a couple weeks ago from someone who knows what they're talking about. It hurt, but I think it's going to push me up the rest of this mountain. I once knew a guy who hiked almost all 20,320 feet of Mt. McKinley, but had to turn around just before he reached the top- he could see the pinnacle, but never made it.

I can't let that be me.

What about you? Has anyone kicked you off your plateau? Where on the mountain are you today?
Image from Denali Alaska Guiding

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Fallow Fields



Farmers leave some of their fields fallow every year to avoid depleting all the nutrients from the soil. Or they rotate what they're growing. (Says the girl from Alaska who plants most of her veggies in buckets and dumps the dirt every fall.)

I realized after I did two massive revisions for Hatshepsut that I've been writing or revising every day for over a year. All the creativity had been sucked from my brain.

So I haven't written or revised anything since the beginning of the month. It's taken three weeks, but I find myself actually wanting to write again. I'm holding off until after my birthday- the big 3-0 is coming up. Eek!

Do you ever take extended writing breaks? Do you find they help recharge your creativity or are they just an excuse to not write?


Image from Getty Images.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Lessons From Space Mountain



I went to Disneyland for the first time when I was nine. Splash Mountain had just opened and all my little friends were jealous that I was going to go on the coolest ride ever.

The first day in the park we had breakfast with the characters and hung out in Tomorrow Land before the rest of the rides opened. My dad loves roller coasters and told me I had to ride Space Mountain with him.

"But Dad, it's dark. And loud," I said. "I don't think I want to go."

"It will be fun," he said. "It's just like Splash Mountain."

(NOTE: We hadn't ridden Splash Mountain yet so this was blatant false advertising. Thanks, Dad.)

I got in line with him. Along the way were signs warning expectant mothers and people with heart problems to turn back.

Dead men tell no tales...

Wait. Wrong ride.

Space Mountain was dark. And scary. And waaaaaaay too fast. I screamed. I cried. I begged to get off. I thought I was going to die.

FYI- Disneyland does NOT stop Space Mountain for hysterical nine-year-old girls.

I survived, but I don't think I talked to my dad for the rest of the day. My point (yes, I have one!) is that there are times I want off the Query/Writing Roller Coaster too- it's scary and I feel like I'm in the dark. It's a little too dramatic for my taste.

So help a girl out here, talk me back from the edge. Do you ever want off this ride too? Do breaks help? What else do you do to keep yourself sane?

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Announcing the Haiku Blogfest!



The mighty hunter
Returns with gifts of plump birds --
Your foot just squashed one.
- A cat's POV, compliments of Funny Haikus.)




I know a lot of you like blogfests, but don't have time to write a 500 word piece or you don't want to post excerpts from your WIP. I feel your pain. Some of you like to write poetry, but like me, you don't think you're very good at it. But haikus are a piece of cake, just three lines with 5, 7, and 5 moras respectively. Easy peasy!

What should your haiku be about? ANYTHING!

Okay, so my haiku is going to be about one of my novels, but you could haiku about a character or scene. It could be from one of your novels or maybe from another book you've read. Or really, anything!

When: Friday, September 3rd & Saturday, September 4th!

Sign up below! And feel free to spread the word- extra karma points for those who Twitter, blog, or Facebook about the Haiku Blogfest! Got questions? Leave them in the comments!



Sunday, August 8, 2010

Off With Their Heads! Err... Hands!



So here's the story from my piece about Hatshepsut chopping her enemies' hands off. If you missed the post this weekend, it's right here.

Hatshepsut's mortuary temple at Deir el-Bahri provides us with accounts of defensive military accounts against the Ethiopians and Asiatics, but most convincing is the account of her foray into Nubia (modern day Sudan).

"As was done by her victorious father...a slaughter was made among them, the number of dead being unknown; their hands were cut off..."

Now, we know Hat's father really did conquer Nubia when he was Pharaoh so it was commonly believed that she had conveniently "borrowed" the tale from Dad to include in her long list of accomplishments. (Note: This was common practice for Egyptian Pharaohs. They made excellent thieves.)

However, a graffito written on behalf of a man named Ti who served under Hatshepsut and her stepson (who would later become Pharaoh) confirms Hat's story.

"I followed the good god, the King of Upper and Lower Egypt Maatkare (Hatshepsut's throne name), may she live! I saw him [i.e. Hatshepsut- remember, she swiped a man's throne so the pronouns get a little wacky] overthrowing Nubian nomads, their chiefs being brought to him as prisoners. I saw him destroying the land of Nubia..."

Another account from Djehuty, a witness to the southern fighting, claims that he saw Hatshepsut on the battle field collecting the spoils of war. (Unfortunately, I don't have a copy of that text, but I'm relying on Joyce Tyldesley's fabulous non-fiction book, Hatchepsut for confirmation. It's a great book if you're interested in learning more about the real Hatshepsut!)

The fact that Djehuty wrote that little historical footnote makes me want to kiss him. (Even though I'd probably be kissing a rather smelly mummy.) That piece of trivia, whether true or not, makes Hatshepsut the most kick-butt woman I've ever heard of. And it was something I knew had to be incorporated into my book.

Yep. I love Hatshepsut.

Friday, August 6, 2010

High Drama Blogfest- War!

I haven't done a blogfest in a while, but I couldn't resist D.L. Hammon's High Drama Blogfest. Next week I'll announce on a new sort of blogfest- one with haikus!

Yes, you heard me right- HAIKUS!

Here's my High Drama piece...

-----

The chariot rolled back toward the desert, night falling fast.

The closest Nubian corpse was just outside camp, a young man with a pale dusting of sand on his dark skin, his arms and legs bent at impossible angles. A scorpion skittered onto the open maw of a dead horse as the chariot drew near. The rebel had been cut down, a battle-axe in his abdomen. The purplish guts oozed to the outside of his tunic and crusted with a thick film of almost black blood.

Hatshepsut steeled herself against the urge to retch and forced her eyes from the sight of the man’s entrails. Nomti started to pull the chariot from the scene, but Hatshepsut’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“I only need a moment.”

Hatshepsut stepped down from the chariot and walked to the dead man. The lavender intestines quivered as she pulled the axe from his stomach with a sickening squelch. Hatshepsut looked only at his right hand.

Hemet, stop!” Nomti yelled. “Someone else can do that.”

“Egypt’s men died today.” Hatshepsut grit her teeth. “This is the only thing I can do for them.”

Stepping on the man’s outstretched forearm, Hatshepsut hacked into the dead man’s wrist.

The blade of the battle-axe dulled with congealed blood and the sound of bones crunching became too much to bear. Hatshepsut retched into the desert’s unforgiving sands.

Hemet--”

“Let me do this!” Unable to fight and barely allowed to witness a battle waged in her name, the least she could do was collect the hands of the enemy for the official tally of Nubian casualties. Trapped within the frail body of a woman and reminded of this shortcoming all her life, today of all days Hatshepsut craved equal footing with the men who had risked their lives for her. This was a weak sort of vengeance for the men who had died for her- she knew that. But it was all she could offer them.

Hatshepsut struggled to stand and made her way back to the half-butchered hand. Forcing herself to breathe and look at the texture of the sands above the mutilated wrist, Hatshepsut finally freed the hand from the rest of the arm. She threw the offensive appendage into the basket, scowled at the red slick of blood on her hands before stepping back into the chariot. They continued on their way in silence, stopping every so often to free a Nubian rebel of his right hand along the way.

Now the Nubians would pay for all eternity for their crimes in this life. If Ammit didn’t gobble up their hearts the instant those sacred organs were laid upon Ma’at’s scales, at least they would be forced for all eternity to roam the afterlife without a hand.


-----


There has been speculation as to whether Hatshepsut actually went to war during her reign- her monuments say she did, but Pharaohs have been known to pad the truth on occasion. Next week I'll talk about the historical evidence that shows that Hatshepsut really did go to war, and may have even freed some dead Nubians of their hands.

Yeah, she's a freaking rock star.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Words: Flies in Amber, Corpses in Ice



People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

-Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale


I want my stories to outlive me. It's one of the reasons I will get published, so something remains of me even after I'm gone. People may forget about me, but a hundred years from now I hope someone can pick my book off the shelf and read what I wrote.

What about you? Will your words outlive you?

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Publish This Book- Why Writers Are F'd Up



I just finished reading Stephen Markley's Publish This Book. Let's just say it's like Jon Stewart and the creators of South Park got together to write a book on publishing a book. And did drugs while they were at it.

Here's an excerpt (the first of a few):

And you wonder why writers become so fucked up- why they drink and shoot heroin and abuse their families and walk into rivers with rocks in their clothes. You can really only spend so much time with your own thoughts. You reach a point where you wonder if anything you have written is of any value at all to anyone other than yourself...

It's fairly simple math when you break it down, and this is true for anyone in the "arts": you, the artist, want people to like your shit. Sure, it's cool if a few people don't like your shit. Such is the way of things. But you need at least
a few people to like it. Even Michael Bay has people who like his shit. You need someone other than yourself to give your piece of art a once-over, kick the tires, check under the hood and say, "All right. This has value. This deserves to exist."

Yep. What he said.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Goodreads & Twitter- Oh My!

So I'm a little late to the party (as in the keg is empty and the DJ's are packing up), but I started an account at Goodreads. I predict many lost hours as I search for every book on my shelves, plus all the ones I read in school or have since given away. It's kind of neat to see what people are reading- find my book kindred spirits.

Here's my Goodreads Stuff. I just finished Stephen Markley's Publish This Book!, but there's more to come on that later. Unique doesn't even begin to describe Markley's quasi-memoir.


Also...

*sigh*

I'm now on Twitter. I'm not expecting to become a huge Tweeter (look at me use Twitter lingo! Probably incorrectly!), but I suspect it has its benefits, despite being another time suck.

So here I am on Twitter. I have no idea what I'm doing, but that's okay!

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Sauteed Mushrooms Are Like Hyperbole

Sauteed mushrooms are tasty. I mean, who came up with the idea of adding butter to fungus to make a delectable side dish? And you can add other things too!

Good: Mushrooms and butter.

Better: Mushrooms, butter, salt, pepper, and garlic.

Best: Mushrooms, butter, salt, pepper, garlic, fresh chives, and white wine.

Yum! Wine really can make anything taste better. Like hyperbole. I love a sentence of hyperbole on the page. It's really my favorite thing to write- I do a whole edit just to find spots to insert hyperbole.


Good: She glared at him. (Okay, maybe not a good sentence, but nothing wrong per se.)

Better: She gave him a withering glare. (Working in the right direction, but still not there yet.)

Best: Her glare could have obliterated every village in Egypt.


Ahhh... Just right!